Murder Under the Christmas Tree
by Celeste.J.Evans
Summary: Phryne and Jack are reunited in London and are immediately thrust into a mystery. Of course. xSpoilers for Series 3x
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome. I haven't written in some time but it's Christmas and so I thought I'd share this story with you. In all honesty, this is my gift to Mads and El who love this show and the joy and sexual tension it brings but I hope you all enjoy it.**

 **That being said, there are spoilers for the entire series scattered throughout so if you haven't caught up with series three, you might want to watch that first.**

 **Reviews are always welcomed.**

 **Enjoy**

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 _Come after me, Jack._

Everything was dreary.

It was so much colder here than it was back home but that was no unexpected setback in her life. It was the grey landscape and the chilling winds that made the Australian girl long for some familiarity. Over the last few months Phryne just felt tired. London was very similar to Melbourne in a lot of ways and yet she couldn't help the desire to run away from home – an idea she hadn't entertained since she was young, or younger.

The detective quietly drank her tea as she listened to the incessant squawking on the other end of the telephone. Even with the receiver face down on the table her mother's voice was still unrelenting and incredibly high-pitched. She was so glad that her parents had reunited and were working on their marriage but living in the same town meant that she had more contact with her family than she thought endurable.

Why, oh, why did she decide to spend a few months in London instead of returning home right away?

Curse London for having a more disreputable standing in the world than her own humble criminal realm.

Phryne stared out the window while the squawking continued. Seeing snow on Christmas Eve was not something unusual but these past few years living in one place had left the detective feeling unsettled in her new environment. For the first time in a long time, she'd left a family behind when she moved to a new city. She missed them; particularly a certain Detective Inspector who hadn't spoken to her since the day she flew away.

Perhaps she'd been mistaken…

No, she shook her head, these things took time. Patience was a virtue she rarely entertained but for once, she was willing to wait – if only for the sake of being too stubborn to make the first move.

And her mother was _still_ talking.

How could one woman have so much to talk about without anyone else contributing to the conversation? Phryne rolled her eyes. Time to end things.

She picked up the telephone and interrupted her mother. "That's all very well but I'm afraid I must be off. I'm meeting a client. A Happy Christmas to you and father. I shall speak to you in the new year." Before the woman had a chance to respond, Phryne hung up the phone and wished she hadn't lied to her mother. Again.

Truth be told, she hadn't had a client in several weeks. And truth be told, she was bored out of her mind. Here she was, in one of the criminal capitals of the western world, and no one had come to her for help with even the slightest inconvenience.

Perhaps it was time to pack up. Perhaps it was time to move on. Perhaps –

There was a knock at the door.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson hated travelling for long periods of time. Of course he'd travelled in his life but it had been another time – the world was another place. It was still as exhausting and cramped as he'd remembered. The man sharing his accommodations smelt of old fish and salted peanuts – and odd combination to say the least.

It took him a month to work up the courage to finally follow through on an overly-romanticized promise. It took him another month to save up the money and convince his superiors to let him take an indeterminate amount of leave. And now here he was on Christmas Eve, standing in the doorway of the honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, scared out of his wits to even knock on the door. After all this time.

But he'd come all this way and to lose his courage now would be…

Well, it would be a frightful waste of money and if anything, he was a sensible man.

He dropped his suitcase by the door and made the plunge.

His knock was sharp and quick – to the point.

If it wasn't so blasted cold in England, he wouldn't be shaking so much. Why was this country so bleary? He bounced around, hugging himself for comfort but nothing helped. All that was left was to wait for her. Again.

When she finally opened the door, he lost his breath. She was just as beautiful and bright as he'd remembered. Her cheeks had lost their colour, he noticed, but her lips were red like wine and open with a smile.

A precious sight he'd sorely missed.

But her eyes were open in shock and – he hoped – excitement. But mostly shock. And that gave him pause. He hoped she would be excited to see him.

Phryne was stunned into silence: a sentence not used often – even in her head. But the man she'd been waiting on for months was suddenly standing in her doorway like he'd always been there. He was as handsome and charming as she'd remembered. That crinkled smile, those scrutinizing eyes that undressed her and scolded her with a single glance. Oh how she'd missed those eyes.

Speak. One of them should speak.

"Happy Christmas." She released a long awaited breath.

"Happy Christmas." That low, rumbling noise shook her to her core. How she'd missed that gravelly voice of his.

Warmth spread through her and bubbled over into a smile. "Jack." A clang of china from the dining room made her jump in surprise, jolting her into a hyper-sense of awareness. "Jack. You're here." She closed the door tight against her hip, blocking her companion's view of the foyer. "Honestly I wasn't expecting that today."

His smile hid a hint of nervousness. They'd been here before. "I was hoping to surprise you. I see it worked."

"I am very glad to see you Jack. You took me off guard, that's all."

His smile turned sour. They'd definitely been here before. "I understand."

Oh? Oh! Phryne opened her mouth to explain. She knew where his mind was – the hurt in his eyes – but she wasn't sure how to ease his mind with a few words. "Jack I can-"

"No, it's…" He stepped backwards into the frigid winter air. "London is a far cry from Melbourne. I understand the temptation."

How had she moved on already? Four months. They'd been separated for four months with the promise of some sort of relationship and yet here she was, pushing him out, hiding things from him. They'd seen each other for less than five minutes. How did they always end up in these situations? How were they already fighting?

He needed to leave. He needed to go back to his hotel and think things through. He'd come all this way and she hadn't waited for him. Jack turned to leave but was only a few steps away from her when she cried out to him.

"Now you wait just a minute Jack Robinson." She followed him out into the cold with a stomp of her stocking feet in the snow. "How dare you judge me without all the information."

"There's no judgement, Miss Fisher, I've simply lost my patience."

"Patience for what?" They were now toe to toe, her chin lifted to him in defiance.

"For the revolving door of men in your parlour."

Her glare froze his blood more than any chill in the air. Perhaps he'd crossed a line but he was brimming with something akin to hurt and anger – so much so that he pretended he didn't care. But she was fuming; chest heaving, face flushed. At least the colour was back in her cheeks. But her eyes were ablaze, bright and playful, warning him not to push her over the edge.

"You listen here. I will not be criticised for the way I live my life or the way I conduct my business. There will always be men in my parlour and if you can't handle that" she shook her head "then I'm afraid you've wasted a trip."

The moment the words left her lips, his chest collapsed in defeat. His jaw slackened and his eyes refused to meet her steely gaze. Of course she wouldn't hesitate to put him in his place no matter what continent they were on.

But he didn't get a chance to apologize. Phryne ducked her head to find his ashamed eyes and smiled sternly. This conversation was over.

"Now." She spoke briskly "if you'd like to come inside, I believe we have a lot to catch up on."

She turned towards the house and strutted back inside like it was a summer's afternoon and her stockings weren't soaked through with the snow. Jack was frozen in…fear? Shock? Awe? Whatever it was, his heart was pounding and, despite their intense discussion, he couldn't help but smile.

He'd gone after her. And she was letting him in.

A Happy Christmas indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone for your support I hope you enjoy the rest of the story as we journey forward with our favourite detective couple.**

 **Reviews are always welcomed.**

 **Enjoy**

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The foyer was warm – compared to the evening chill – and it sent a lovely thrill of relief up her spine. The last thing she wanted to do on Christmas Eve was freeze to death while fighting with her favourite detective but she found herself tugging off her silk stockings and laying them on the side table while willing her heart to stop beating out of its chest.

She then helped Jack out of his hat and scarf to resist the urge to strangle him. That man had no idea what he did to her. To come after her only to yell at her. And now here he was in her home – again – looking delicious and familiar. The urge to run her hands over him for the sake of novelty was overwhelming. Just to breathe in a sense of home.

It didn't hurt that he looked absolutely delicious – as always. But he was looking at her with those hesitant eyes and open jaw as though he wanted to apologize for snapping. None of that.

"Now that that silliness is over." She smiled and drew him in by the lapels of his coat. "There are some things we need to discuss."

He sank into the familiar teasing so easily. With a mischievous smile and a tug at her waist, all thoughts of the past were forgotten. "And what would they be?"

"Well for one: you've been here for five whole minutes and we haven't kissed."

"Allow me to correct that most horrifying oversight."

His arm up her back, cupping her shoulder blade, twisting her into his body ever so slightly. It was all so perfect. She opened her mouth to him, anxious to taste him again – finally. He seemed just as anxious, staring down at her lips in anticipation. How she'd missed the slow tease of his breath with hers.

"Miss Fisher, where's that extra spoon you said you were getting? You know I don't like to mix my additives until they're in the teacup."

The couple flew apart with much greater speed than they'd come together.

Jack peered over at the man in the hallway, still holding tight to his companion. He was short and paunchy with a pristine tweed suit and large, round glasses that wanted to fall off his face with the slightest provocation. He was clean shaven and balding except in his ears, and he was staring at the couple as though their tight embrace didn't faze him at all.

Phryne rolled her eyes. Things were never so simple.

"Yes, Harold, I'll be right in with the other spoon." Her voice was calm and polite but Jack followed the track of her eyes. She was holding back annoyance and amusement which only made his fingers flex around her waist, the desire to kiss her even stronger.

"See that you do, Miss Fisher, I don't like to be kept waiting." Phryne immediately turned back to Jack with an apologetic smile and bright eyes. She wasn't about to explain her actions until she got what she wanted.

Jack couldn't help but gaze over her face as she leaned in for their embrace. Just as he remembered her: face flushed and joyful. Teasing and commanding. How he'd missed those lips. Those sparkling eyes.

"Oh, and I keep telling you: don't call me Harold. You will call me Mr. Blake." Phryne bit her lip to keep from responding and just stared into Jack's eyes, conveying all her frustration. Jack chuckled, ignoring the man who'd peaked his head into the foyer for only a moment before disappearing again. Seeing Harold – Mr. Blake – alleviated some of his earlier worry and heightened his shame. The lady detective would never abide a partner so rude. He must be a client.

Phryne was already regretting her decision to let the stuffy Englishman through the door. Who uses separate spoons to stir tea? "And once again." She smiled mischievously, pulling her partner in. Naturally they were inches away when _Harold_ popped his head back into their lives.

"Miss Fisher, where is the"

"Mr. Blake." Jack pulled Phryne against his hip – if only to keep her from reaching out and strangling her guest. "Why don't we all retire to the dining room and I will bring over some fresh tea _with_ an extra spoon."

The turtle-like man seemed stunned at the presence of another person in the foyer and stared in silence for a moment with those beady little eyes before he adjusted his vest and straightened his shoulders. "Yes. Well. I shall see you presently." And then finally, _finally_ , he waddled back into the dining room, leaving the couple blessedly alone.

Jack struggled so hard to keep his relief inside. Instead he channelled it into a look. A single look he saved for when Phryne wasn't looking. Light with love, deep with lust, and so wanting. An overwhelming sense of _at last_.

It sent her heart fluttering. He only looked at her like that when he thought she couldn't see. She hid her smile with a tilt of her chin and cleared her throat. "We should head in before _Mr. Blake_ comes back."

"Just one more thing."

He caught her wrist as she tried to escape and pulled her tight against his body. In a single breath she felt the comforting heat of his skin. His heart beat so quickly, a single hand on his chest practically vibrated. The press of his hips and thighs was intoxicating. And his lips – how she'd missed those lips – were chapped from the cold but firm and open, pulling her in, devouring her. Pressed back against the front door, he pulled her tight, her wiggling toes nearly brushing the floor. Their kiss was long and deep, as it always was between them.

No sense in doing things half-assed when you can enjoy every embrace.

They separated with a pop of their lips, still a breath away from each other.

The warmth spread through her smile. "Hello."

"Hello." Just as before, his voice rumbled through her body, leaving tingles painted across her skin. Very gently – and almost reluctantly – he brushed his hand down her side until their fingers intertwined and he squeezed the digits muttering "Now we can head in."

That slow seductive look turned quickly into mischievous excitement as she bounced away from her detective.

"Come. We have a case."


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Three and still going strong!**

 **Reviews are always welcomed.**

 **Enjoy**

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Just as all things with the lady detective, the dining room was decadent. Jack smirked as he looked around at the low-hanging chandelier and ambient gold glow from its underwhelming plastic lights. A point of amusement for him was that Phryne's kitchen was set up very similar to her one back home in Melbourne. While Phryne made tea, he watched her skate around the room with such ease and simple perfection that he found himself overwhelmed with the desire to touch her. To run his fingers over the soft material of her dress and squeeze her flesh, molding it to his desire. He needed to get some distance between them. So he ushered her into the dining room with justifications of keeping their guest company while he finished up.

He placed the boiling pot on the long wooden table, dropping the teacup balanced on his pinkie with a clink. The detective winced as he felt the indignant glare of Mr. Blake on the back of his neck. His eyes briefly met Phryne's and she smiled secretly to scold him as he produced a teaspoon from his inside coat pocket with a flourish.

"Mr. Blake, your extra teaspoon."

Mr. Turtle raised a bushy eyebrow and pulled the spoon away with two pudgy fingers and a snap of the wrist. "Thank you." Jack flipped his coat away to sit down but paused when Harold cleared his throat. "Aren't you going to pour it for us?"

Jack shot Phryne a warning look before continuing to sit down. The lady detective returned a look of restrained amusement, bringing her attention away from the man at her side to the man across from her. "Mr. Blake, this is _Detective Inspector_ Jack Robinson. He's here to help you." Jack turned with a pleasant smile, ready to greet their guest.

The Englishman sniffed, unfazed by the news. "I see. Well, forgive the misunderstanding. It's the accent."

Both detectives straightened their shoulders in offence but refused to speak up. The only sound in the room was the clinking of multiple teaspoons while the couple stared at each other. Jack worked his jaw with stunned eyes, unsure why he was even sitting with this man; the man who paid him no regard and whom he had no attachment to. But Phryne promised him a case – and her company – so he waited for her to respond.

Phryne was losing her patience with the Englishman by the second. The man who'd knocked on her door ten minutes ago was panicked and scared, too worried about his life to care about propriety. The moment she put down that first pot of tea, he was suddenly composed and irate.

All hope at seeing Jack and gaining a case on this miserable Christmas Eve was lost at seeing the stalemate between her two worlds.

Time to move things along.

The detective slapped her hands on the table with a polite and professional smile that told Jack to keep his mouth shut. "I believe you were just about to tell us your story."

"Right."

Jack took an instant disliking to the man on his left. He was the worst of high society but unfortunately the woman on his right was the best. So he chose to listen. If he focused on the case and not the man then they'd all make it through this alive. "Mr. Blake, rest assured I am here to help."

The man practically growled as he rolled his eyes and picked up his tea, sipping slowly and daintily – well at least Jack thought it was dainty – until _he_ was ready to speak.

"I recently left my job at the Victoria and Albert Museum." He subtly puffed out his chest. "I was the head curator of the Art Nouveau collection."

"A position you were woefully overqualified for, I take it." Jack winced when Phryne kicked him under the table but he kept his eyes on their guest.

"On the contrary, I'm very proud of my time there." The stoutly man looked almost sympathetic, refusing to meet Jack's eyes in his defence. "However, I was wrongfully dismissed when several pieces of the exhibit were stolen or destroyed in a break-in. I was blamed for thieves who then came to my home last night and threatened me.

Phryne placed her teacup down on the table, now fully invested. "Why would they threaten you?"

"Because I saw who it was – or at least they think I saw. I was working late that night, and I accidentally left the back door unlocked." Harold was getting more pathetic by the minute. With his shaking hands, unable to hold the blasted teacup he had to pour himself, and his big doughy chin wobbling as he spoke "I confess my carelessness cost me dearly. But I didn't see who stole the items." He sniffed once and brought his head up, a composed man. "But two masked men threatened me and I'm coming to you in order to apprehend them."

Oh no. Jack was interested now. There was no going back. Focus on the case, not the man. "Why not call the police?"

"I've dealt with the police twice now: once when they tried to arrest me at the museum, again when I called them after I was attacked. They threatened to press charges if I pestered them further. They believe me to be guilty."

The room fell silent with the weight of Mr. Blake's words. If they were going to do this, they'd be doing it alone. Jack looked over at Phryne, asking her opinion on the man they might be working with. She raised her eyebrow in curiosity. She still hadn't decided.

"Mr. Blake, how did you hear about Miss Fisher?"

The Englishman blinked, stunned at the question. As though it were an obvious explanation. "I'm familiar with your Aunt."

"Aunt Prudence?" Phryne was shocked by the news – but more so to discover her excitement at the case wavering the more her client told his story.

"Yes. She's donated several rather extravagant pieces to the museum over the years and your aunt is…not silent about your exploits. She told me that you are not unwilling to go against the law in order to serve justice." He spared Jack a glance but then returned to his subject. "I understand if having your companion here makes you reluctant but I am in need of the services of a private detective. I'll only ask you once, Miss Fisher: are you going to take the case?"


	4. Chapter 4

_"Are you going to take the case?"_

"Yes."

"No."

"Jack, can I see you in the kitchen?"

Reluctantly the detective stood and followed his companion across the hallway, a smirk hidden as he walked behind her. She wasn't happy with him fighting against her but damn if it wasn't fun.

The door swung closed behind him and he suddenly found himself face to face with a put-out Phryne Fisher. Arms folded over her chest, chin tilted down giving her glare the ultimate power of punishment. How he wanted to kiss her. But he couldn't; _the case comes first_. The mantra in his head played on a loop. If she made the first move, however, they could forget their own curiosities for a moment. He could handle that.

Unfortunately, the lady detective was not swayed by thought alone. She forced him back against the door frame by the sheer push of her stare. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking the case. I thought that's why you invited me in." Phryne hated his smile. It was so _charming_ even without trying. Jack was not one to play around but when he wanted to – which he clearly did – he tested her patience in ways that made her heart pound and her fingers tingle with the need to touch him.

Two could play at that game. And she had much more practice with getting a man to do what she wanted than he did with persuading her against her own mind. Something about Harold didn't feel right which meant something about his story was suspicious. And besides, Jack was here. He hadn't been _here_ in months She wasn't about to be denied a vivacious "welcome" just because there was a client in her dining room. The first client in several weeks but regardless, she wanted some alone time.

She was toe to toe with her companion in one step. "I invited you in because I was very happy to see you. It just so happened that I caught a case amidst the celebration."

Jack could never refuse her when his body worked on instinct, his arms wrapping around her waist. "Are you saying no because of me?"

"I'm saying no because we can't trust him." She played with the lapels of his suit jacket and bit her lip, looking up at him through her eyelashes – a tactic that rarely failed her, especially with him – and he appeared to be melting to her will. His fingers flexed and squeezed her tighter in punishment.

He was not about to lose this war. He grabbed her hands and held them against his chest so he could at least think. If it happened to make his companion's breath hitch with excitement in the process, then so be it. "And since when did that stop you from barrelling into danger?"

"Since" The honourable Miss Phryne Fisher faltered in her strategy. Her reasons were personal and could very well win her this battle. But was it worth it? Time to test the waters. "I missed you."

Her voice was quiet and small; a secret she didn't mean to admit. They'd already admitted some sort of feelings for each other and she wasn't above pushing him to be more involved in their so-called relationship but volunteering feelings of any kind was new territory for both of them. And Jack knew it.

"I missed you, too. Very much." He took a deep breath, a smile spreading across his lips in relief. He'd said it. He'd freely admitted something that couldn't be taken back. He'd been thinking about her.

Phryne returned the smile of relief and they just stayed there. Content and still, smiling up at each other. Phryne couldn't believe the freedom that accompanied her words. Such simple phrases and they hadn't had the courage before. Hopefully his sweet smile and intensely focused eyes meant she won. "Do you still want me to take the case?"

Jack chuckled. Of course; who did he think he was dealing with? "You know we are."

Rats. Oh well. Who cares if she won? She wrapped her arms around her partner's neck and kept up her most innocent tone. "You'll have no jurisdiction here."

"Then I'll finally see what it's like to be on your side of the law. I've always been curious." Blast that man for being so charming and assertive. Of course she knew he was right. Despite – or perhaps _because_ of – Harold's lie, Phryne was invested in seeing this case through. It didn't mean she was excited to pull away from the detective or overjoyed to face the bumbling Brit again. But she never could say no to a case with Jack Robinson.

"Then shall we begin?"

"Not so fast." For the second time in what felt like minutes, Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her back to their embrace. Apparently time had made Jack more decisive. The conversation wasn't over until he said so. Her heart quickened its pace. "With the two of us here, Harold will be safe. We could certainly afford to wait a few hours."

"Jack Robinson, are you asking to spend the night with me?" The implication was not lost on Phryne but she was stunned and unfortunately it showed on her face. The detective laughed and held her tighter. He hid it well: his shock at the words coming out of his mouth. He hadn't meant to say it. He wanted to but he hadn't meant to. The only solution was the see it through…apparently.

"It is Christmas." Jack raised his eyebrows with that delicious smirk painted on his face. He knew he'd already won. He knew her too well; she wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to pursue a case that obviously had a hint of danger and deception. Nothing could be easy. He won. With a sigh, Phryne left his embrace.

"I'll tell Harold we'll take the case."

Jack folded his arms and crossed his ankles, looking more smug and relaxed than she'd ever seen him. "I'll be waiting."

Phryne took a second look at the man in her kitchen, still in awe that he was here and that he hadn't forgotten her request. _Come after me_ , may have taken on a life of its own on this nights spent alone. She'd missed him, she'd wanted him. And now he was seemingly a willing partner.

Things were too good to be true.


	5. Chapter 5

After convincing Harold that they weren't abandoning him or taking his case too lightly – "of course not, Mr. Blake, we just need time to develop a strategy, and besides, a good night's rest will do us all some good" – they settled their client in the spare room with reassurances that they both carried weapons and would protect him.

While Phryne was tucking in their client, Jack sat drinking his lukewarm tea and thinking; a very dangerous past time for the detective who frequently chose practicality over emotion. He'd gotten a lot better since meeting Phryne – or perhaps that was worse. Perhaps his instincts were right and a relationship with her forcing him to abandon ideals he'd held so highly for so long. Perhaps they shouldn't do this.

In the twenty minutes it took to calm Mr. Blake, Jack lost all his confidence. He wanted to be with Phryne, he knew that, but pursuing her meant a lot of risk. He owed it to her to tell her: He wanted to be with the woman whom he never had to talk to in order to know exactly what she was thinking. It made things so easy when he felt cowardly and couldn't actually say what was on his mind. And now they were walking toward her bedroom, there was little time left to back out.

Despite his fear he couldn't help but feeling like some things _needed_ to be said; which is why he tugged gently to still her momentum. "You know, Phryne, we haven't actually discussed what happened in the field that day."

God, he looked so unsure compared to the man in her kitchen. Phryne disliked that look, that sad puppy dog look, because it was the non-verbal equivalent of 'we need to talk'. That was never good. But his words struck her with an uncommon sense of worry.

"Do you think one of us misinterpreted the situation?" Don't let it be her, don't let it be her.

Don't let it be him, don't let it be him. "I think it would be beneficial if we cleared the air. Officially."

Well that was an invitation, she hoped. There was something to be said for open communication – even if it meant taking some risks. "Officially?" She tugged on their still entwined fingers and he stumbled into her side so they were a breath away. He hummed in contentment and gazed down at her with such apprehension, she couldn't decide her next move.

Officially, what were they? How would they clear the air? That day she flew off without him she'd felt exhilarated and scared and excited. And scared. But their kiss had been spine tingling and new. Fresh; in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. What if that's all it was? New and exciting. Nothing more.

Those fears were unfounded – they had to be. Jack was more than a dalliance. He had been for a long time. But labels were messy and complicated, and scarier than any kiss. He was definitely a more permanent part of her life than she initially predicted. One that she wasn't about to give up now that she had him back.

Time to give him her answer.

She pressed her lips against his in a light touch, gentle and sweet. He smiled which pulled a giggle from her chest and propelled her forward, pushing him against the door. She pulled back slowly with a slow exhale in exhilaration, stunned at how good their kiss always was.

"Does that answer your question?"

Jack was blinded by lust – or love, or some variation of the two – so he just kept smiling as he found the door handle digging into his side and propelled it open. No need to figure out all the answers right away. He could enjoy the moment, he could look past his worries; right? "You, Miss Fisher, are going to be the death of me." She gasped as he swung her inside and pushed the door closed behind them. "But what a way to go."


	6. Chapter 6

Jack tossed a towel over his shoulder as he entered the bedroom the next morning, finding Phryne sitting at the vanity, brushing her hair out. She was so beautiful, so sincere, so at ease in this new environment; he admired her adaption. A twinge of guilt set in, overtaking him as she smiled at him through the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair to cover his blush of shame.

Phryne observed her partner as he ran a hand through his hair like he knew she loved it. Loved everything about that defined jaw and slicked back hair. How she'd missed that face. He looked so handsome in the morning light – of course he did – she gave him a once over with a hungry eye before turning back to her to her morning routine. A few more strokes of her brush and she would be ready except for the sudden blush of excitement that had crept up her cheeks. She had the look of a satisfied woman – due in large part to the man who'd just come back into her bedroom.

Jack watched her secret smile and paused. Her cheeks were flushed and her expression soft and warm in a way he hadn't seen from her in a while. She was so...happy. Not excited by a case or content with her afternoon tea, but happy. He hoped he had been a small part of that. So far, travelling half way across the world hadn't been a waste of time – only a test of his self-confidence.

"Good morning." His voice was gravelly from sleep but his lips turned up and Phryne smiled.

She'd smiled more in the last 12 hours than he had in the last 12 weeks. So had he. "Good morning." Phryne watched her partner cross the room, dropping his towel in the open suitcase on his way to her side. She tilted her cheek for him to kiss but kept her eyes on his reflection. "All freshened up?"

"All ready to go." His grip on her shoulders was light and comfortable. "Thank you for remembering my suitcase outside. I don't know what I would have done if my clothes had frozen overnight in this weather."

"Well someone was a little anxious to get inside last night. It's understandable to forget things like clothes."

He chuckled as he moved to the bed and began to fold the sheets. There were some things about Phryne that he would never admit to loving; like the indulgence of luxurious bedding and the grand, open space in which she lived her life. What he first found to be excessive superfluity he grew to secretly desire – much the way he viewed the lady detective herself.

Phryne watched Jack move through the mirror and bit her lip when he bent across the bed to reach a pillow. Shaking her head, she ran her brush through her hair a few more times in an attempt to keep her hands occupied. "You know, you didn't have to sleep on the floor last night. There's plenty of room on the bed."

Jack paused in his task for a brief moment before pushing forward. "I told you, it's best not to tempt fate."

That was not a good enough response for Phryne who stood and marched within confrontational-distance of her companion. "I'll ask you the same thing I asked you last night and this time I'd like a better answer. What fate are we tempting?"

Jack ducked as the brush in Phryne's hand came swinging at his head in her flourished frustration. He grabbed her wrist to still her anger and pulled the brush away. His grip with firm, keeping her still and focused on him words. "A very dangerous fate."

The colour that came to Phryne's cheeks was not a precious blush but repressed anger and frustration. "Jack Robinson"

"With everything that's come between us over the years are you really asking about fate? It's a miracle the two of us are alive at all."

"Yes, exactly! All the more reason to embrace the present. What temptation can there be between a man and a woman who care for each other very deeply?" Jack finally released her hand and it fell to his chest. "Jack, what's stopping you? Last night in the kitchen you were so…eager."

His thumb rubbed her hand in soothing strokes as he spoke, almost a subconscious apology. "The man in your kitchen, the man at your door last night, was blinded by hope and excitement at seeing you. But even my short time here has made me reflective and apprehensive."

"Lists of emotions are not an explanation, Jack." She hoped his eyes would give her some sort of clue but they only looked apologetic. "What's going on?"

The detective sighed. "I'm afraid there are some barriers that still need to come down for me."

"What ba"

The couple turned towards the closed bedroom door as the sound of shattering glass rang through the house. It took only a moment for a heightened sense of panic and curiosity to sink in. In unison they groaned in frustration.

"Harold."

The couple pushed open the kitchen door to find a very distinct scene played out. A chair had been knocked over from its place at the table. A single place setting of toast and spilt tea; where he found her china and all the items to make tea, Phryne chose to ignore in favour of taking in the scene before her. The rest of the space was relatively clean except for the kettle and tea bag sitting on the counter, staining the wood. And then there was a pile of shattered glass just on the inside of the back door. The room was perfectly set up to tell a story.

Jack straightened the chair while Phryne examined the shattered glass by the kitchen door. "It seems someone broke in and stole your client."

"It looks that way, doesn't it?" Phryne muttered, pushing around a few of the bigger pieces of her window, avoiding the sinking feeling rising up by examining the rest of the room.

Jack followed the path of her eyes as she made her way around the room. "Something out of place?"

The lady detective tried to identify the nagging feeling in the back of her head. Something wasn't right. _Harold was using her formal china for breakfast._ Rather than use the cheaper, coloured cups she used for every day moments, he went to her china cabinet and invaded her privacy. Phryne looked across the room at her cabinet and sighed. And now she had her answer.

"It appears our Mr. Blake has vanished along with some very fine china from my cabinet; a gift from Aunt Prudence. Very delicate and very expensive."

"Theft or kidnapping?"

Phryne scrutinized the room, focusing on the need to keep her emotions in check. The last ten minutes had been a test of her patience and this latest twist was enough to set her off. She needed to focus. Focus on the case presented to her and not the man behind it. She was hired to find out the name of the thief.

"There's only one way to find out."


	7. Chapter 7

Gleaning Harold's address from his business card was simple enough but making their way through the busy streets of London was its own challenge for Jack. As a soldier, the detective had no occasion to actually visit the city but now that he was here, he found himself fascinated but a little disgusted. Even from the safety of Phryne's rented vehicle. He had to admit, the lady detective had great taste in cars.

"Bentley 3-Litre Red Label." He admitted to caressing its sleek forest green hood before he let Phryne get behind the wheel. He knew she hadn't been in London since the war but she seemed confident as she made her way through the dirty and damp streets so he trusted her.

Of course he trusted her.

Phryne hopped out of the car as they parked and waited for Jack to do the same. He'd been unusually quiet on the drive over after she caught him stroking her car with admiration. She couldn't blame him – it was a nice car – but her thoughts turned to last night and the man now standing beside her.

He baffled her.

Here was a man who wanted her but wouldn't take her, who desired her company but wouldn't confide in her. He desired her physically – three years of sexual tension was not a one-way street – but his affection for her was something they'd only ever ignored or danced around. Now she couldn't get a read on him.

He scowled.

Jack pulled his coat up against his ears. He hated the cold, especially unexpected cold like arriving in the Northern Hemisphere on Christmas Eve. His companion seemed unaffected which only made a chuckle stick in his nose. Stoic Phryne Fisher. The one that came out while they were steeling themselves for a case. He reached out to her but before he had a chance, she was knocking on the door. Right down to business, then.

One knock. Nothing.

Two rather insistent knocks. Nothing.

Jack loomed behind his partner, not because he knew how it made her tense up, but because it was the most effective way to communicate when she was standing in front of the door. Of course. "I assume you have an alternative way of getting us in."

Phryne rolled her eyes. He stood behind her with his breath on her neck deliberately. And it jump-started her heart. She blinked innocently at him from over her shoulder. "Why of course I do." She kept her eyes on him as she dropped to her knees, taking pleasure in the faltered expression on his faces, and pulled out the lock picking kit from her coat pocket. "I never leave home without a way out."

Jack watched her work with a sense of admiration. Another thing he'd never freely admit was how much the detective admired his female counterpart's initiative. Not only was she tantalizing but she was incredibly useful at testing the expanse of the law. There were things he wanted to do but couldn't – like breaking and entering – and since meeting Miss Fisher, he'd pushed himself further than he ever expected. The prospect of working a case in a town where he had no power didn't even scare him anymore.

Phryne pushed the door open as she stood up in the partner's space. "Shall we?"

He tilted his head in a curt nod, letting her enter ahead of him. With each one subtly checking their coat pockets for a gun, they felt confident stepping through the door of a hunted man. Unfortunately they found…nothing.

"This is not the home of a man who's been attacked." Jack observed.

"I'm inclined to agree with you." Much like the man himself, Harold's front room was pretentious and meticulous. Not a chair or picture frame seemed bothered by a scuffle. Though his space was not large – four rooms in a small collection of breathing room – it was filled with items that each had their place. Beautifully framed paintings, ceramic vases that screamed of wealth, crystal pieces shoved in rows on shelves lining the entire open space. Neither dared to estimate the price of the items but they were not the pieces that a curator could afford unless they were stolen or family heirlooms.

There was one room left unexplored. Phryne presented the unopened door before them. "Shall we head to the bedroom?"

Jack winced at her choice of words but hid it by admiring the extensive collection of china plates. "Lead the way." Unlike the rest of the home, this room was tidy and minimalistic. A bed with plain covers, a wardrobe, a side table, and a chest at the foot of the bed. Nothing more.

The couple took sections of the room and worked their way across, keeping a space between them. Distance made Phryne brave. They hadn't spoken since they began their search for clues. It was time to break the stalemate. She kept her attention on the chest in front of her as she spoke; only some blankets and an extra white pillow. Nothing exciting to focus on except for their conversation. "Are we going to discuss what happened this morning?"

Distance made Jack a coward. "I'm sure we can fix your back door with little difficulty."

Her scolding tone came from the floor as she crouched over to the wardrobe. "You know full well that's not what I'm talking about."

Jack looked at her from his examination of the side table. He discovered the bible and bottle of whiskey several minutes ago but couldn't bring himself to move closer to her. "Are we really going to talk about this now?"

"It's as good a time as any."

The detective sighed. He wanted to focus on the case at hand. "Phryne"

"Just so I can understand what's going on." She couldn't face him but she could certainly chew him out. "You show up at my house after four months, scold me, kiss me, convince me to take a case I'm not certain of, ask me to spend the night with you, sleep on the floor instead and you're now refusing to justify any of your actions. Is that correct?" She felt a click under her fingertips as she brushed the base of the wardrobe. A false bottom. Eureka.

"Phryne"

"Jack, I believe you've been given a reprieve. I've found something."


	8. Chapter 8

With a little pressure, Phryne uncovered a false bottom in Harold's wardrobe. It slid open revealing its contents with ease.

Phryne stared at the evidence before her and clenched her fist. Disappointment and fury squeezed her chest.

Now she was tossing a shoe against the wall in frustration.

Jack ducked as it whizzed past his head. "Whoa, what is it?" He tried to sooth her with a hand on her shoulder but she brushed him off tossing a wave at the wardrobe in lieu of an explanation. Inside the hidden compartment were several pieces of china, ceramic, and crystal; some had museum catalogue tags while others were clearly parts of missing sets.

"He's the thief." Phryne stared on dejectedly.

Surprisingly, Jack didn't feel the same sense of outrage and dread. Perhaps he had been too blinded by the prospect of seeing Phryne again to really care about the case at hand. He shrugged. "You had your suspicions."

Phryne was not so nonchalant. Her eyes scanned the evidence, taking a mental catalogue. "I should have been more careful."

She was more upset than he first realized. With a hand on her shoulder – a touch she finally accepted – he tried to reassure her. "He came to you. They rarely do that. You couldn't have known."

"He used me. I don't like when people use me, Jack." Her tone was warning. Phryne _hated_ the emotions welling up in her chest: frustration and disappointment; she had been so blinded by Jack that instinct and common sense had been abandoned, leaving them in this situation – which only aggravated her further.

"I know. We'll find him."

She pushed Jack's hand away and turned to face him. "What kind of man would go to a private detective just to steal?"

"He's either very clever or very stupid." He jumped when she growled though he would never admit it. "And considering how easy it was for you to find him and his bounty, I'm going to assume the latter. Which means he'll be that much easier to catch."

She pursed her lips and let her eyes return to the evidence at her feet. "Perhaps."

Jack was losing her to whatever emotion was currently overtaking her common sense. Phryne Fisher was not the woman to display her anger and frustration like this. He needed to keep her focused. Harold Blake was a man who would suffer dearly for pulling a stunt like this. Honestly, what kind of idiot would cook up a scheme like this?

Focus on the facts, Jack. Maybe he could give up a little control – nothing new now that he knew Miss Fisher. "Listen, I may not be very forthcoming with my feelings but I can at least give you some facts." That caught her attention. "The fact is: you are incredibly intelligent, quick, and ruthless. Any man who confronts you, does so at his own peril."

Phryne tried desperately to hide her smile. Only moments later, she lost the battle. Trust Jack to scold her and compliment her in one sentence. She needed to focus. "Well you're not wrong."

Yes! Jack internally celebrated. "I've learned my lesson. Never go up against Phryne Fisher when she's determined to get something done. Agreed?"

She'd definitely lost the battle of wills but there was no way she'd let him off without a warning. Jack Robinson does not get to sooth her like he would a scared animal. Even if she was letting her emotions overtake her senses – however briefly. "I'm not a child to be patronized, Jack."

"Then stop acting like one so we can catch this man." Phryne gaped at her companion in stunned silence. He rarely reprimanded her so openly but as usual, she'd let him get away with it. She'd let him get away with nearly anything. Because he was Jack and he always had the best intentions.

With a glint in her eye, she smirked, assuring him that they weren't done yet. "Agreed."


	9. Chapter 9

The Victoria and Albert Museum was grand, and picturesque, and closed.

It was Christmas Day.

Of course.

It took the couple fourteen minutes to find a service entrance, less than a minute to pick the lock, and another ten minutes to find the basement and descend into its sparsely lit depths.

Jack had been silent – too silent. Something was on his mind and Phryne wanted to make sure it wasn't going to distract him from this case; like he had distracted her from following her instincts about Harold. She prided herself on being a fully focused and invested in her cases but from the moment her detective walked through the door, she'd been drawn into whatever emotional drama was causing their teetering relationship. She'd let herself become distracted and the simplest of thieves had escaped her grasp. But Jack's silence was once again diverting her focus and she needed to ensure that one of them was completely focused on catching the suspect _they_ let get away.

She turned at the base of the stairs, and held out her hand to stop him. "Jack, about earlier"

"Is this really something we need to do right now?" The detective's sigh gave her pause.

"Are you really mad at me?"

Jack gave her a mocking shrug. "What reason have I to be angry with you?" He chided himself for being so caught up in his emotions rather than the case at hand. But she was pressing his patience. One minute she was flirting and teasing as always, and the next she was serious and distant, and the next she was solely focused on the case. Yes, he'd been a coward when it came to spending the night with her but he'd explained that he had misgivings. Perhaps, he seemed to be giving her mixed signals as well.

But now was not the time to discuss things. "Phryne, we…perhaps need to talk about things unrelated to the case but now is not the time for that."

 _Say it_ , she prodded. "What things?"

"Our relationship for one." Progress! Jack silently celebrated taking that first step and admitting that they had a relationship to discuss.

Phryne hid her victory well, only her eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. "I agree. There is much to discuss ad perhaps celebrate" she waggled her eyebrow and he gave her a chiding smirk "but for now we have a case to solve. And that deserves our full attention. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

The couple turned back to the task at hand with matching looks of satisfaction.

The journey thus far into the belly of the museum had been silent and frankly uneventful so it seemed the same would follow as they made their final turn into the main hallway of the museum's storage and processing area. Harold's work space would be behind one of these doors. Dim lights overhead lit the hall in a yellowish glow that made the silent, cement basement feel sickly and old. Phryne loved it. It felt almost haunted every time a pipe rattled or a stone creaked. So thrilling.

Jack knew Phryne loved this part of the adventure. Sneaking through forbidden areas that gave off the feeling of being watched. He had to take advantage; he'd be a fool not to. The door on their left creaked open just a touch, pulling the lady detective's focus. Perfect chance to pounce. As the door fell open further, he stepped up behind his companion. As his hands closed around her shoulders, Phryne jumped as did the mysterious man suddenly standing in front of her. The only one of them to scream was the figure in front of the couple. He squealed in shock and jumped back, knocking his head against the doorframe, sending several files flying from his hand.

The couple looked at each other in shock, confirming that the man before them was in fact real and not a product of their overactive imaginations. A moment later they were both on their knees, assisting with the cleanup.

"So sorry about that." Jack handed their guest a folded stack with an apologetic smile. "We weren't expecting anyone to be down here."

"It's alright." The man spoke with a nasally tone as he adjusted the bridge of his glasses. Why did no one in England wear proper fitting glasses? "I was just grabbing a few things from my office."

Phryne stood with the last of the papers and grinned politely. "Glad to hear that you won't be spending your entire holiday cooped up in here Mr…?"

"Oh, umm" The man wiped his palm before extending it, leaving behind a marking of what appeared to be chalk on his cotton vest. "Dr. Franklin Robinson. Head curator for the Art Nouveau collection here at the museum."

The couple were stunned but Phryne shook his hand with a smile. "Phryne Fisher and this is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson."

The doctor immediately straightened up. He was a tall man but thin and boney. His clothes practically hung on his pale body while his salt and pepper hair seemed to stand on end with excitement.

"The police. Oh dear."

"We were under the impression that the man who holds your position is named Harold Blake."

They didn't miss the way their new companion relaxed with relief, chest deflating, posture sinking into a hunch. "Oh yes. He was the curator here until last week. Then I got bumped up from assistant to _head_ curator. Very exciting." His tone was just too dull to be construed as enthusiasm. He was just too stale for that sort of emotion.

"What happened?" Jack was still looming over Phryne as he asked his questions but she left him there, his warmth at her back was comforting. It was nice to have a partner working cases again.

"I'm afraid he was fired when it was discovered that he'd taken several artefacts from the museum. Apparently he was a bit of a kleptomaniac."

"Interesting." Phryne muttered under her breath. "Where might we find the employment records? I'd like to learn more about Mr. Blake."

"I'll take you there myself, miss." Dr. Robinson bowed his head before fumbling with a large ring of keys he produced from his pocket. "It's just down here." He led the couple down to the end of the hallway and into the corner room where a flick of the switch revealed end to end walls of filing cabinets and files piled on top of those drawers.

"Thank you, Dr. Robinson, we'll take it from here." Jack dismissed their man with a thankful handshake. And then they were alone again. "So, what exactly are we looking for?"

Phryne was already absorbed in the first row of drawers, pulling it open and examining the filing system. "We're looking for a clue as to where Mr. Blake would run if he found himself in trouble."

Thankfully for the couple, the museum hadn't cleared Harold from their current files and his information was easily found. "Aha!"

Laying the thin collection of information on the table in the corner, they quickly sifted through the words, looking for something they didn't already know about their sticky fingered fiend.

"What about this?" Jack indicated a hand-written piece of paper with the man's initial entrance interview notes scratched in. "Apparently his only living relative is a mother who's a permanent resident of the Hospital of St. John and St. Elizabeth."

"I believe that's a facility for terminally ill patients." Phryne spoke solemnly as Jack registered her words.

"I believe we just found our motivation."


	10. Chapter 10

Lunch was served in an English Pub crowded with lonely alcoholics and workers returned home on Christmas Day. For once, it took very little convincing to get Phryne or Jack to eat. Both her hungry and eager to take a break in order to figure out their next course of action so they found an open door that promised food and sat down. Jack felt an instantaneous feeling of aggravation and protectiveness as three separate men left their half empty mugs of beer to openly stare at Phryne. A look from the female detective and a single eyebrow raised in their direction was enough to shut them all up but that little burst reminded him why he was so hesitant to be with her. The years he'd spent feeling that jolt and having nowhere to focus it.

They made idle chatter until their food arrived and then they were burning their tongues on over done meat pie and questioning the fish and chips over two very large mugs of beer.

Jack shrugged. "When in Londinium." They tapped their glasses and took one long gulp. It was weak with a bitter aftertaste so one gulp was all they needed. "Now, Miss Fisher, what do we know?"

Phryne distracted herself with pie. It was still burning her tongue but it actually wasn't bad. "I know that this pie is delicious. I love that everything here is so savory, even the sweets."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." Jack continued to eat – or at least push his food around as he scolded her.

Her lips turned up as she took another bit of her meal. "Of course. I simply wanted to enjoy our lunch together. I've gotten to spend such little time with you since you arrived."

He rolled his eyes in amusement. "I've been here for less than 24 hours and once this case is solved, we'll have plenty of time to have that discussion. But the sooner we find Harold, the sooner we can go back to where we were so rudely interrupted."

The lady detective felt that automatic twinge of frustration as her partner once again offered a very clear innuendo. How was she supposed to get a read on this man? But who was Phryne Fisher to pass up an opportunity to get what she wanted? So she smiled and tipped her head in acknowledgement. "You do make a very good point."

Jack smirked and leaned in conspiratorially. "I usually do, you just don't listen to me."

"Because your way is usually no fun." Phryne finished off her meat pie. Now, down to business; no time for Jack's indignant protests – like the ones surely about to make an appearance. "So, what we know is that Harold is a former curator with a penchant for thievery and a mother with very expensive medical bills. Our next stop should be to see her."

The detective gave up on pretending like he wanted his meal and pushed it to the side. "Or we could telephone the police and enjoy the rest of our holiday in peace."

"You know that neither of us will be able to relax knowing that our task is half finished." Phryne shook her head, knowing she'd already won. "No, we have to see this through."

Jack stared at his companion, examining her look of smug determination. She'd already won the battle. And he knew it. With a sigh, he rolled his eyes. "You may be right but I don't have to like it."

Phryne lifted her cheeks in an unconscious smile. "That's the best part about being right. Now, let's get the bill so we can continue our quest."

He let her drive. Even after all the trouble putting her behind the wheel had cause them, she never let him say no or sway her from her decision to drive dangerously. He knew she didn't do it on purpose. It couldn't really be helped if precarious situations just fell into her lap while she was behind the wheel.

The couple were barely a kilometre away from the hospital when their car suddenly hit a rather large bump in the road. Phryne immediately swerved onto the sidewalk and narrowly missed a street lamp. Jack reached out a hand to protect her but she instinctually did the same and their limbs got tangled in the middle. Once the car had come to a complete stop, Phryne pushed open her door. "What the hell was that?"

Jack muttered as he stepped out of the vehicle. "Some things never change."

"What was that?"

"Your driving is still dangerous in another country." Jack called out with a mocking tone.

"You're very funny, Jack."

Their laughter fell apart as they saw the cause of their accident and they stared in shock.


	11. Chapter 11

The thing they ran over was one Mr. Harold Blake.

According to the police, he was dead before their car hit him, having been shot in the chest. Phryne was unusually pale and it worried Jack. His hand remained around her hip the entire time they were talking to the police officer.

"It's tragic really," the officer commented with a tip of his hat "we called his mother and she said he was on his way to see her. Never made it." Jack's boys would have never volunteered such information to a witness but it was beneficial to them so he let it go.

As Jack thanked the officer, Phryne found herself distracted, watching Harold's body being prepared for transportation. When she saw his body lying there, she'd felt the ground fall out from under her. Her initial reaction was that she'd run over a man, overwhelming her with guilt and anxiety. She'd been in plenty of accidents in her time but it never ended in vehicular homicide.

Thankfully for her – and not necessarily for Mr. Blake – he was already dead. But it still shook her. She wasn't about to admit to Jack that he was right about her reckless driving and she stood by her right and ability to sit behind the wheel but for the first time in a while, Phryne Fisher had been scared.

Harold looked so different compared to the pudgy little nuisance who'd walked into her life yesterday. His face was scratched and blotchy, his tweed suit was torn and covered in chalk. He seemed so careful with his coat.

Phryne stood straighter and put another puzzle piece into place. Jack noticed his partner's change in demeanor and squeezed her hip to grab her attention. "What is it?"

"There was chalk on his jacket."

"And?"

"And he seemed to take great pride in the appearance of his suit."

Jack followed along, realization slowly coming in. "But there's someone else who isn't so meticulous."

The couple found Franklin Robinson cataloguing a set of very precious, very expensive china. He looked up in a panic when he heard the guns cock. He wiped sweaty palms down his vest, staining it with chalk. "Oh my god, why are you doing that?"

Jack shook his head. "We know you killed Mr. Blake."

"Harold is dead?" It was as though he wasn't trying to lie; his wide eyed innocence gave him away.

"There's no point in denying it." Phryne smirked, hoping it would hide their horrible lack of evidence. "Just tell us the truth."

The good doctor was still as he considered their offer. Phryne and Jack glanced at each other to confirm their resolve.

"Oh alright." The couple inwardly sighed in relief when their target took the bait and raised his arms above his head. "Yes, you caught me. I'm not about to give up the other members, though."

 _Other members?_ What the hell was Harold involved in?

"We're not interested in the other members," Jack was quick on the draw, thank god "we just want to know about Harold's death."

Franklin seemed to consider his options and opted to side with the two wielding guns. Smart man. Phryne was just itching to shoot something. "I've been working at the museum for months with no problems and then Harold's stealing started to get worse. I knew that he used to steal items from the museum and sell them for money for his mother and then he'd turn around and steal from patrons and use them in his display mock ups before selling them. It wasn't a bad system." He hesitated to continue so Jack filled in the blanks.

"But then he stole from the wrong people."

Franklin nodded. "Let's just say my boss didn't appreciate having his favourite art work stolen out from under him."

"And for that he had to die." It wasn't a question. At this point Phryne rarely questioned a criminal's motive; only their belief in cheating the system.

"Well, if he hadn't gone into hiding, it would have been a lot less messy." Their killer gave a wicked smirk, a look which didn't fit on his clean shaven, tidy face. "I do have to thank you, Miss Fisher. We wouldn't have found Harold if it wasn't for you."


	12. Chapter 12

Several hours – and a lengthy conversation with an irate police officer – later, Jack pulled Phryne down the hallway towards the master bedroom.

"We've been here before." Phryne teased, allowing herself to be led in stumbles and tugs.

"Except this time, there are no distractions." He brought her tight against his hip and brushed his nose against hers. "The killer is apprehended and the police are closing in on some notorious gang." Lips open, Phryne caught herself tilting her head to reach his mouth only to have him pull away from her. "Harold's case is closed." A ghost of touch on her lips and Phryne wanted more. "And there are still three more hours of Christmas day."

He leaned in to close the distance between them but this time, she pushed them apart. Just far enough that they could have a conversation but not enough to leave his embrace; that would be punishing them both.

"Jack, we _have_ been here. And as I recall, it ended in an argument that we haven`t really resolved."

The detective sighed. Time to come clean. It was now or never. But how to explain a feeling he couldn't quite define. "You're right, we did agree to talk." He grasped her hands lightly, letting them fall between them in a comfortable hold. Deep breath, now. "I have been…afraid."

"Afraid of what?" This wasn't what Phryne expected.

"Of you." He almost laughed at the words that came out of his mouth. "You are this incredible woman and I have spent the last three years training myself not to touch you, or care about you."

"You did a horrible job of both." She chuckled, breaking his tension.

"Apparently." He remembered to breathe. "Now we're in this position where we can explore a relationship that could be…"

"Fantastic." Phryne supplied.

His expression softened as he admitted "More than that. But I confess to being a little gun shy when it comes to you. To being fully invested." His smile turned serious. "I can flirt with you until the end of time but it may take some patience to follow through in earnest. Can you give me that time?"

Oh that man. "Of course I can offer my patience. Provided, you agree to tell me what you're feeling instead of giving me mixed signals." She squeezed his fingers and offered him her sweetest look of innocence. Oh, how she teased. "And provided I'm not left completely without while we work through your inhibitions."

"I hate to leave you wanting, Miss Fisher." He tugged at her waist and she came to his side like a perfect puzzle piece. Their kiss was sweet and long, applying little pressure or aggression beyond an untapped passion; one they felt boil through their fingertips but kept at bay with soft touches and a smile as they parted. Their foreheads met and they breathed in time with each other.

"Happy Christmas." She whispered.

"Happy Christmas." He whispered, offering another light kiss. "Now," he restarted his journey towards the master bedroom, with her at his side. "I believe I can stomach a night in bed, holding a beautiful woman. Provided she's willing, of course."

Phryne shook her head. "You, Jack Robinson, are going to be the death of me." She tugged him through the door with just enough force to propel them both forward. "But what a way to go."


End file.
